and this life has been no holiday, a complicated situation
by JannP
Summary: I'm coming home to the lights and buzz/ Streets look the same still nothing's as it was / This place is paradise, I'm sure it feels my reservation/ I've gotten lost here before/ Inside a good vibration. Post-4X09 Oliver-central oneshot inspired by Lights and Buzz by Jack's Mannequin.


**A/N: This story makes me nervous, but ultimately I wouldn't post it if I didn't think I could explain myself to anyone who feels it's ooc. I'm just so restless waiting for the next episode. I have a feeling it was designed that way. Anyway. Happy Holidays and I hope it's in character and enjoyable.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, or the song 'Lights and Buzz' by Jack's Mannequin, which is what inspired this one. Spoilers for 4x09, but completely character driven spec beyond that. I know nothing, I promise.**

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 **This Life Has Been No Holiday (A Complicated Situation)**

Oliver walks through the door to their apartment and, as soon as he does, he smells _them_. He's never entirely thought about it before, the way everyday products and personal scent combine just by the simple act of living together. It's their laundry detergent and her shampoo, his body wash and the subtle spice of whatever he normally smells like mixed with the leather he always wears. It's whatever he last cooked lingering in the air and, now, a little bit of that stale smell of unused space because this is the first time he's been home since it all happened. They got ready for the party here together, sharing some wine and laughing and taking way too long to get dressed because they seemed to have some trouble staying dressed once wine was involved and…

He walks in the door, takes a deep breath, and is instantly overwhelmed in a way he never could have anticipated and his tenuous grasp on emotion and sanity can't really handle. He leans back against the door but refuses to close his eyes or surrender any of his other senses. They're still on guard, still under attack, and that frustrates him. It's still something he's putting off, though, because he has other and more important things to deal with right now.

When he focuses, though, he can hear something. He can smell something that doesn't quite belong. Any sort of weary relaxation that happened automatically by being in the last place he really shared with her is gone as he tenses and mentally begs for _please don't make me fight right now_. He's afraid he'd lose it and kill someone more than anything else. He's at his max limit for guilt right now when it comes to his fiancée. He can't do something stupid and make it worse because he'll snap.

Anyway, it's not a problem or an intruder. It's Laurel. She has a box on their leather loveseat and she's carefully removing decorations from the tree Donna Smoak had erected. He blows out a breath and walks over to the couch, dropping his duffel bag on the ground unceremoniously and placing his hands on it.

"Hi," she says carefully. After she's done unwinding whatever it was in her hand (he doesn't know, other than to say it was blue in color), she looks at him from inches away. This may be the closest to him anyone's dared to get in days and it throws him off balance again.

"Laurel," he says. He tries to smile a little but no go. Her name will have to suffice as a greeting and a question: _what are you doing here?_

She knows him well enough it works. It's kind of nice, this space where they're friends without awkward. They've done a lot of awkward and still do sometimes, but he's glad that isn't right now. "Everyone has somewhere to be and do and Thea still has her key. You and Donna are at the hospital, of course. Digg is, too, when he doesn't go home to rest. Thea is issuing press releases and handling your campaign. Barry went back to Central City because he needs to be there and trusts you for updates. Even my dad…" She shrugs and taps her hands against the box uselessly as she runs out of the people close to them and doesn't want to actually say how ineffectual she feels.

 _Welcome to the club_ , he thinks. He's not going to say it.

"So you're taking down Donna's Hanukkah decorations?" He asks instead, surprised that his voice manages any inflection at all.

"It seemed like it would be depressing to come home, whenever you both do, and have to deal with it because Hanukkah is over." She swallows hard and he thinks it probably takes a lot of swallowing to get that many words back off the tip of your tongue.

He nods. "Thank you."

She looks a little less hesitant, stands a little straighter, though her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah. So…. Does Felicity's mom _know_ you aren't Jewish and green is more your thing than blue or silver?"

His smile doesn't reach his eyes, either, but he tries. "Yes on the Jewish, no on the green." He looks away from Laurel's once familiar face, letting his eyes wander over the room. His sense of purpose is just sort of shot at the moment and he doesn't really know what else to say or what, exactly, to do with himself.

Felicity's nurse brokered no argument when she pushed him out, promising they were keeping Felicity medically sedated for at least another day, but she's stable. The road isn't going to be an easy or short one, but recovery will happen when they let her wake up. That isn't today and hasn't really been the last week either so Cassidy, the nurse, insisted he go home and shower because he 'looks like the walking dead and smells even worse.' After that, in addition to the time she told him he couldn't give blood as a measure of goodwill while they were giving Felicity a transfusion— _for_ _about seventeen different reasons and risk factors, Mr. Queen –_ he's thinking he should be a little insulted. She just had the right tone, similar to a small blonde he's come to know and love dearly and even obeys sometimes begrudgingly, so he conceded her point. Both of them.

He hasn't left once, hasn't been further away from his girl than the waiting room around the corner from her room in the shock-trauma ICU. Being home now, being outside while he got home, was weird and foreign. Nothing looks different and, still, nothing's as it was.

Laurel must've started moving again at some point because her voice is further away when she speaks again. The distance is both physical and metaphorical. "I miss Tommy," she says offhand.

He reaches his hand over the back of his neck, his eyes shifting back to her and focusing on reality again. "I do, too. Not in the same way, but I feel it all the time."

"He would've hidden mini-bottles in your not-Christmas tree," she comments lightly.

He chuckles, though the image she paints is another life. Once Tommy found out about his double life, things weren't the same. There was understanding in Tommy's final moments, sure, but it may not have been the same if Tommy were still alive. He would've gone through a lot, they've all been through so much. Oliver, after all he's been through, can't see the possibility in other realities anymore. He sees reality with a sharp and relentless measure of clarity, his own faults and missteps tending to stand out in bright and haunting color.

"You don't look like you need one, though. God knows I don't."

It's not a good joke and he's powerless to stop it, like a lot of other things.

He shifts his eyes back to her. "Things would be different." He bites his lip and just keeps watching her. "For the record, I feel helpless, too." He blows a breath out. "And, just like with Tommy, I keep wondering why it wasn't me."

"You know this isn't your fault, and neither was Tommy." She's stopped undecorating and is looking at him with open concern. "It wouldn't be any better if it were you, Ollie. It has been plenty of times, even if you weren't here to see it. Losing you is always hard, too. And you're not losing Felicity. She's going to be okay."

Oliver nods, because he knows that. He _does_. Knowing it and feeling relief from it, though, are different things. He's grateful for it, but he's also afraid it means this was just the beginning. This feels too definitive to be the beginning of a long war and he has no idea how to stop it from happening. He's doubly helpless and wishes he could manage a little bit of hopelessness. Maybe then he could go numb for just a minute, the antagonism in the emotions providing a weird kind of stability.

"HIVE has been quiet lately, though. Just so you know. I doubt anyone has mentioned it to you but me, and Digg a little, we've been keeping tabs as much as possible. I'm sure he hasn't mentioned it."

"No one really talks to me," he says, and is probably as surprised as anyone he doesn't feel bothered by it. It's true, though. Just like no one has really touched him, he's spoken in clipped phrases and updates only. He hasn't had a conversation about something other than Felicity's condition in days. He's been utterly focused on that, on her, and finds himself a little surprised he isn't offering a half-assed apology. Instead, he offers a little well-earned gratitude. "Thank you, for keeping up with it. I think about it, but it seems…"

"Far away," she supplies. "Less important right now, when you're trying to will her to be okay."

"Yeah," he agrees. He swallows hard. "My will isn't as powerful as it used to be, or at least as powerful as I used to think." He shrugs and looks up, leaning more heavily on the couch. He's completely sure he'll have nightmares, but he's exhausted. "She gave me hope, though. Enough transferred it's sticking with me."

"That's good. Hope is good." Her eyes assess him in the way few can. She knows him far too well sometimes. "You look like you're going to fall asleep," Laurel comments.

"I am," he says. His smile is still not a real living or breathing thing. "I'm going to go upstairs and shower first because apparently, I need it." He lets his eyes glance off the space she's working on. She's mostly done with the small stuff, and he knows she wouldn't leave the huge tree to him if he asked. He isn't exactly sure how Donna got that thing in here by herself with the heels she tends to wear, but if she can get it in, Laurel can definitely get it out and will insist on the independence being allowed her to do just that. Saying something about leaving it will just annoy her and he really doesn't have any desire to annoy her or remove it himself.

"Ollie… for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I only sort of know what you might be going through, and I know it's hard when you love someone and they're hurt or worse."

He looks at her for a second, because that's all he'll allow himself. She's lost so much – including him. It seems like a lifetime ago they were talking about having a future together because it was. The lifetimes they've lived since led her to his best friend and led him to Felicity. He loops around the couch and wraps her up in an uncharacteristic hug. He's spent all his worrying time being infinitely grateful for the few minutes of bliss he got with Felicity. Not knowing for a while if there would be more made him glad he'd said something to her and they at least got that. That isn't to say he isn't glad they'll have more time. He just sees Felicity's point that waiting to say something isn't worth it.

So he tells Laurel thank you, and that she's a good friend. Those things are true and are a reflection of how far they've come. He wants her to know. Then he kind of wants to be alone, so he goes upstairs without looking back, moving slowly because he's so tired.

A few people have dared to tell Oliver what Felicity would want him to do. Given the nature of their lives, they made power of attorney and advanced directives when they moved in together. It wasn't a particularly romantic train of thought, but it was necessary for his peace of mind and to give him or her some sense of control if the world got out of their hands. It let him make all kinds of decisions for her following the attack on the limo, and he did it with rapid fire and not thinking about it. He's been so caught up in the minutiae of her medical care that he hasn't really thought about what she would want for him. People have said she wouldn't want him to be exhausted or to not eat, but the truth is that he's the one who reminds her to take breaks. She's always good about accepting when he comes home, but that's the one area of life she doesn't push him in. She trusts him to do what he needs to do and gives him the space to do it. It isn't that she wants him to be uncomfortable, but he hates other people speaking for her when she doesn't have a voice and it's the first time he lets himself get annoyed by it. He isn't sure he's slept for more than two hours in a stretch since he carried her into the hospital, desperate and covered in her blood. He didn't change his clothes until Thea brought him something and forced him to – and it took him a day and a half to call her.

Back when Thea was nearly dead, he went to the ends of the Earth to save her. While Felicity of course didn't mention the Lazarus Pit in her legal documents, he's pretty sure she wouldn't want that. They learned a lot about the consequences of it and, while he doesn't regret for a second having Thea here now, he also wouldn't do it again. If Felicity died, he would let her. No matter how much it killed him, which it absolutely would, he wouldn't condemn her to a fate she didn't want out of selfish need. She's the best part of him now, though, which means she's resilient. He isn't willing to be selfish with her because she makes him so much better. Clearly, though, he's still willing to sacrifice himself for her because he knows and can freely admit he'd be lost without her. He would fall apart.

 _There's no sense in that, though_ , he thinks as he showers. He can only keep the depression, the thought she isn't there to sneak into the shower and steal his hot water, at bay because of the strength she's given him. He makes his way through a short cleansing and to their bed, acutely feeling the way her energy is missing from the space. But it's temporary. He can keep that in mind. He's running on fumes, mostly comprised of the knowledge he'll be going right back to her side at the hospital.

For all the things people said she wouldn't want, they missed the simplest one. She wouldn't want him to give up hope. She's left him with enough of it he can run on reserves until she wakes up. It's a struggle for a man who has had so much hope beaten out of him repeatedly (and sometimes he's been the one issuing the beating), but he'll do it because he loves her and he thinks that's what she needs more than anything. She needs his hope and his full attention and he's determined to give it to her.

That isn't to say he sleeps easy, because he doesn't by a long shot. He's plagued by nightmares from the shooting and, in the grand tradition of things feeling worse in a nightmare, it hurts. He drifts through memories of Christmas past like the only Dickens novel he ever made it through—the times before the island when his family held their annual Christmas party. It wasn't always the most exciting thing but it was dependable and he needed that little slice of regularity considering the insane decisions he was making even then. He tried to rekindle that stable feeling when he got home, to no real avail. He's abandoned the concept until this year. It seems fitting Felicity is the one who reinstated that kind of warmth into his life.

He remembers via dream, times he was lost in a snowy mountain weekend away, snowboarding with Tommy over Christmas much to little Thea's dismay. It felt so good to be young and alive like that.

Seasons have come and gone, though. They say time stops for no one and that's certainly been his experience. He's had it hammered home more than most, being forced time and again to see the differences in before and after, the differences in growing and standing still.

There's been so much love and loss and chaos. It's been mixed in with good things, though, things that have removed the splinters and shrapnel that left him so dark and broken. Digg went home for Christmas, despite his worry over Felicity, and sent Oliver a picture of a very messy Sara after she dug into chocolate chip pancakes. It was a solid reminder that life was still happening outside the walls of the hospital room Oliver was holding vigil in. Thea brought him food he couldn't make himself eat much of, but he thanked her for thinking of him and then realized it was the day after Christmas.

He loses time again, finally dropping off the edge of complete exhaustion. The last dream he really remembers, mixed in with the dark and disparaging ones, is Felicity while they were traveling. Her smile as they drove or when she discovered some detail about himself he'd managed to hold back somehow. The feel of her fingertips exploring him, and his mouth exploring her. It's all warm and sunkissed, and those memories always feel like summer. They lull him to sleep on a warm tidal wave of happiness.

He wakes to darkness, a hand on his shoulder, and he has no idea what day it is. That in and of itself is startling. He lays stock still for a minute, trying to gauge where he is out of habit before he opens his eyes and looks around. As his mind sharpens a little, he realizes he's left himself vulnerable to God only knows what. All he smells is home, though. The now familiar-scent that is him and Felicity combined. Secure in the knowledge he's safe, somewhere she's been with him, he drags his eyes open. Digg is there, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting.

"Hey. What's going on?" He asks, uncurling his posture. His muscles are stiff in the way they can only be when you're unconscious. Other than a little groggy, though, he feels well-rested and clear. He feels like he might be ready for whatever John Diggle has to say, and that's really only sometimes the case.

"They've weaned Felicity off the sedative. She'll probably be awake sometime this afternoon." There's a rich undertone of amusement he barely catches. "We've been trying to call for a while."

He finally bites the bullet, not literally, and asks. "How long have I been here?"

"About eighteen hours." Digg speaks the words and then stands, like he's afraid Oliver will be angry or possibly take a swing at him. It's just not true.

"Wow," is all Oliver can manage in reply. As he thinks about it, though, it's probably a good thing. Once she's awake, he's going to have to slip out of not-giving-up mode to make-her-comfortable mode. His own needs are about to become nothing and he wouldn't have it any other way. Once that's his reaction, Diggle folds arms against chest and waits.

"Yeah. The nurse who gave you the boot may have had a point. You smell better, too," he jokes. He must be a little less worried if he's making jokes, however light they would be. "I'll be downstairs waiting."

The only thing he notices on the ride back to the hospital is the absence of nerves. When things have happened before, he's been so uncertain of the outcome and so cynical about it. While he knows there aren't any guarantees, and he's definitely nervous in an abstract sort of way, his relief is palpable. He remembers being grateful for Laurel's friendship and help when he got home and he thinks about the difference in him now, that he can appreciate these things, and he can find himself breathing easy on his way to somewhere awful for something that will be emotional and overwhelming. Still, because she's somehow always with him, all he can really feel is relief. The relief will multiply when he sees her eyes or hears her horror that he combed her hair while she was sleeping, or as he helps her through physical therapy and pain management and holds her at night against the nurse's wishes. It's all just going to happen. It's inevitable.

"You're quiet. You okay, man?" Digg asks as they pull in.

He blows out one of those easy breaths. "Yeah. It's just good to be alive, you know? I am, she is, you are… we'll handle whatever happens from here."

"Sounds dangerously close to optimism for you."

Oliver sighs. "Yeah, well, me and Felicity are a team, right? We work because she's a ray of sunshine when I'm not, which is basically all the time. I thought I should try to take her role until she's ready for it again."

"So this is what you're like when you're not exhausted. That's what you're saying."

"It's good to be alive. That's all I'm saying." Oliver shakes his head a little.

"It's like I don't even know you."

"Shut up. Let's just get inside and do this thing. Please."


End file.
